


Oh, You're In My Veins (And I Cannot Get You Out)

by Of_Heaven_And_Hell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Discrimination, F/M, FLUFF EVENTUALLY, Hate, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Heaven_And_Hell/pseuds/Of_Heaven_And_Hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically just Bellamy, Clarke and Murphy falling in love.</p><p>It's slow, it's painful, it's the best thing they've ever done.</p><p> <br/>Or, Clarke and Murphy are both looked at as traitors (After she's come back from Polis and after everything he's done.) She's lonely and he is too, so of course they hit it off. Bellamy follows Clarke's lead as usual.</p><p> <br/>Also, getting together seems to be the easy part. The arkers don't understand their relationship, and they tend to hate what they don't understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off as mostly Clarke/Murphy but Bellamy's coming soon, I promise.
> 
> *Chapters start out short and get longer as the fic goes on*
> 
> *Slighly edited*

"I swear to God." Murphy mumbles as yet another delinquent added wood to his pile. He'd been overjoyed when he first received the job, after all how hard could it be to move some wood from point A to point B? Apparently it could be very hard, especially when some smug dumbass kept adding to the pile every other 5 minutes.

"What? Think you're too good to work now?" The kid smirked as he emptied his hands. He wasn't the biggest, but he definitely dwarfed Murphy. The latter knew there was no way he could take him, but he was sure as hell gonna try anyway.

The asshole must have thought the same thing because he grinned, started crowding into Murphy's space.

"Hey! Jeremy, don't you dare." Murphy turned to see Clarke marching forward, short body moving purposefully towards them.

'Apparently Jeremy' didn't look very pleased with the interruption, swiveling to tower over the blonde. "Why do you still think you're in charge here? You ran away, remember?"

The question seems to strike a nerve in Clarke, and Murphy waited eagerly for her snarky reply. Her mouth opened once, twice, three times before he realizes that there isn't one coming. Blue meets blue, far too wide, and he feels a tiny bit of joy at watching the princess fall from her tower.

But the sun reflects off her eyes enough for Murphy to see the glossy haze over them and it reminds him of a time when his own eyes looked like that and Clarke had helped him; stopped Raven as she held him at gunpoint.

There isn't a gun here, but it somehow feels even more dangerous.

So he sighs, slotting himself between the two. "In all fairness, I'd run away from a face like yours too."

Jeremy's eyebrow raises, "I don't believe it." His eyes flicker between the two before eventually settling on Clarke. "Actually, I do. The two traitors. Fitting." He saunters off, laughing to himself.

Murphy lets out a breath, glad that he- probably- wasn't going to get his ass kicked today. He runs a hand through his hair as the blonde clears her throat, reminding him of her presence.

"Thank you." The words come out genuine, but her head is still held a little too high for Murphy's taste.

He walks off, throwing a 'whatever' over his shoulder.

 

It's dinner time and Murphy slides down the cold, metal wall of the Ark, even as his stomach begs him to go get food. But he's had enough human interaction for today (and he's no stranger to hunger).

Besides, he likes it out here. There's only one flickering light on this side of the Ark, since no one ever comes back here. He has a perfect view of forest. He likes the way the sight makes him tense, rushes memories to his attention. It makes him feel like he's facing his fears, like he's brave. (On bad days, it makes him feel even more like a coward).

Either way, he likes it.

He's not sure how long it's been-- ten minutes? An hour? But soon enough he hears boots crunching the grass and he sits up, fingers grasping the handle of his knife instinctively. He doesn't know what he expects, but the blonde hair that comes into view surely isn't it. 

He throws his head back against the cool metal surface, letting his knife fall to the ground again. "What are you doing here?" He spits as she still inches forward.

It's like she takes his question as permission, because as soon as the words leave his mouth she closes the gap between them, sliding down next to him, careful to make sure their shoulders don't touch.

"I thought you'd be hungry, I didn't see you at dinner." She explains, grabbing a pouch out of her bag and holding it out to him.

He's about to tell her to fuck off when his stomach growls and her eyebrow shoots up, a smirk on her face. She waves the bag like a challenge and, never one to back down, he snatches it from her. She isn't bothered by the roughness at all, still smiling when she pulls out two dirty bottles. "Moonshine." She tells him as she places it near his knee.

Looking at her now, he can see why he used to like her. She really is pretty, even under this shitty lighting. She tucks her knees to her chest as she turns to look at him. Her eyes seem to glow in the dark, the near black bags underneath only making them brighter.

They stare at each other for a while; remembering the past, thinking about the future. She studies him, eyebrows knit together and he thinks this is the most exposed he's ever been.

"What are you doing here?" He whispers once it becomes too much.

She tears her eyes away from him at that. "Doesn't matter." She mumbles around the mouth of her bottle.

He supposes that it really doesn't matter, so he follows her lead and downs half of his own bottle. He comes up chocking as the liquid burns his throat.

"Who would've thought that the Mighty Murphy can't hold his liquor?" The blonde laughs beside him.

"You're such a bitch, Clarke." He grins at the eye roll she gives him.

"That's what they tell me."

"They'll get over it." He says offhandedly as he can manage.

Clarke laughs, but it's a pitiful sound. "Doubtful. I left them."

There are a million things he could say to that. He could tell her that they needed time, that they'd understand that eventually. Or, that she didn't need them in the first place. But he knows that she's probably already aware of all that. So he merely states, "You're lonely." He elaborates as he feels her confusion, "That's why you came here."

She's silent for a second but then she nods. "And you're hungry. That's why you let me stay." She doesn't say that he's lonely too, even though she's thinking it.

He nods too, admitting to both, and then they're silent once more. He'd usually be back in his tent by now but Clarke seems glued to her spot. So he stays. (It isn't like he has anything better to do)

 

They don't move till dawn breaks, the sounds of people waking reminding them of the world outside of their alley.

He leaves her as she's still packing her things, smirking when he hears her say "I'm coming back tonight, stay hungry."

"Stay lonely." He throws his reply over his shoulder, not looking back.


	2. Some Lines Were Meant to be Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Murphy get in over there heads, but neither realizes it yet.

They create their own routine in the month that follows.

Murphy always arrives at the little alleyway before she does, fitting in his ten minutes of bravery. When she does come, she has food and moonshine in hand. Some nights they don't stop talking, filling the silence so desperately that it seems deadly. They share stories about their time on the ground or they rant about some asshole from camp. Once they even bonded over old crushes on Bellamy Blake, each promising to slit the other's throat if they told anyone.

But they never talk about their childhoods, or about those they've killed.

On bad days, neither speaks at all; pushing their own alcohol into the other's hand to acknowledge the pain or the tears (or whatever else it is that day). Then, they leave at dawn.

And that's it. There isn't any real variation or change. 

Until tonight, when Clarke basically runs into the small space, banging her back against the metal once she reaches him; pushing the bag into his grasp without bothering to take out her share.

He eats his food, planning on ignoring her emotions as they usually did. But he can't really enjoy his panther once she starts sobbing into her knees."Do you want me to beat them up?" He asks jokingly, but he'd probably do it if she really wanted him to.

She stills before hiccuping out a small "You wouldn't be able to."

"Ouch, thanks for the confidence, Princess." He rolls his eyes before correcting himself. "Do you want me to fight them?"

"Him."

"Bellamy?"

"Yea," Clarke nods, a little too frantic. "We talked. Well, kind of. I thought-- I guess I thought he'd be over it by now."

"That boy sure knows how to hold a grudge, huh?"

"I guess so." She smiles a little when he pushes her rations over to her.

"He'll get over it." He tries to reassure her. Usually he doesn't like telling her things that might not be true, but usually she doesn't breakdown right in front of him either. He knows how hard it is to have the camp suddenly hate you, and he knows she had a lot farther to fall than he ever did.

"Probably." She shrugs, and he knows she isn't half as apathetic as she sounds. "How was your day?"

"Same as always, filled with assholes. Just like yours, I think."

Clarke takes another swig of her moonshine as she stares as him. He does the same. He can't remember if their shoulders always touched, or if this was a new thing. He didn't really care.

"Murphy?" The atmosphere has changed now, charged with tension and nervousness. Her gaze keeps flickering to his lips and he remembers the first night she came here.

She's just lonely, he tells himself, and drunk too.

But goddamn it, so was he.

So when she leans in, he meets her.

And then they're kissing. It's awkward, all saliva and teeth, but it feels like the best one either of them have ever had. (Even though it's technically the only one Murphy's ever had.)

Clarke doesn't waste time, straddling his lap as she lifts her shirt over her head. Her bra follows quickly, and if he had any doubts before, he sure as hell doesn't now because, holy fuck, those are boobs. In his face.

Her small hands weave into his hair, yanking his head back as she sucks bruises into the white of his skin. "You gonna be good for me, Murph?"

The words almost make the brunette tell her to fuck off, but then her hand travels lower and the words get lost in a moan.

"I thought so." She smirks, helping him take his pants off after she discards her own. 

She must be too drunk to notice the scars that mar his body because her roaming hands never stop as they graze over the old wounds. Alcohol. Maybe that's why this all feels so right, he thinks as she kisses him so hard his head hits the wall behind him. 

She doesn't say sorry. He doesn't want her to.

 

They continue like that the whole night, leaving their bodies bruised and a little less lonely. But that's the kind of feeling that creeps up on you; so even when they're done, both topless and breathing heavy, their mouths press together until the sky brightens.

"I think we'll need a blanket next time." She laughs, pulling sticks out of her hair.

"I'll bring one tonight." He smirks, shrugging on his jacket. She's missed a leaf and he's close enough to pull it out for her, but that feels a little too close (and they're already leaning over that line). Once the other delinquents got over their rage she'd be happy again, and she wouldn't need to sit with him in the dark.

This moment was fleeting, it was no use pretending otherwise.

 

They go separate ways without a goodbye, still laughing as they reenter reality.


	3. All I Need is to Find Somebody (Somebody Like You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Bellamy talk.
> 
> Clarke and Bellamy too~~

"Did you ever go to any of this Ark dances?"

"Do I look like the type to go to a dance?" Murphy smirks down at Clarke, her head resting in his lap.

She pretends to study him for a second, a smirk of her own making an appearance. "Actually, yes. But you also look like the type to pretend you don't."

"Of course I do." He tugs on a strand of golden hair as he rolls his eyes. "How bout you? Ever go to any dances, Princess?"

"One. Wells and I were never the party type of people, but he really wanted to go once. You know, just to see what it was like. He had a good time, danced with a cute girl and everything. We only stayed for twenty minutes though, he wanted to finish our chess game." Laughter escapes her throat, light and easy.

He starts laughing with her before he even notices. She's talked about Wells a few times before but it's always been about how she should've known, been a better friend, or something.

"Who'd you dance with?"

Clarke's face tints pink a bit at his question, "Wells, before we left. I was too shy to say yes to anyone else. Besides, my mom wasn't the most popular person, even back then. Not a lot of people wanted to be associated with that."

"Speaking of Abby, you guys talk yet?"

The blonde sighs, eyes fluttering shut. "She wants to help. I think. But I don't need her help and she doesn't know how. She just makes it worse." The words sound painful. Murphy knows they probably are. They used to shy away from these kinds of conversations; the ones that feel too much like open wounds, the ones that remind them of how much salt is on the other's hands.

He doesn't know what to say to that. He's a little bitter that she has people who want to help. Maybe a little bitter that he knows he doesn't deserve that.

Clarke sits up quickly, on her feet before he's even escaped his thoughts. Her hand is stretched towards him. "Dance with me."

Murphy gives her an unimpressed look, pretending not to notice the tears waiting to fall from her eyes.

"Come on." She whines, pulling him up anyway. Her voice doesn't waver, the tears don't fall. She's strong.

"I don't know how." It's his turn to be embarrassed now, red spilling down his neck. Karma's such a bitch.

She entwines their hands, "Good. I don't either." 

Her palms are sweaty, the sun suffocating even in the early morning. Their fingers slip against each other as their bodies stumble over roots and each other's feet. He likes it.

They must look so stupid. His shirt is off, scars far too visible in the light. She never put her pants on again after they had sex, thighs as blindingly pale as his chest. They're doing their best to recreate the moves they'd only seen on the old television shows, grinning and whispering; praying no one stumbles into their paradise.

Her eyes still hide tears, but she lets a few fall. He can feel the old pain on his chest from countless cuts, burns. They stretch as he twirls her, ignoring the urge to hide them.

(After all, salt was supposed to heal wounds, right?)

 

The adults have done a lot of stupid things, but this had to be the worst. Putting him and Bellamy on the same watch, alone, basically guaranteed one of their death's. So they'd pleaded, threatened and screamed at Kane to switch but the bitch had shrugged it off as dramatics; told them it was only for a few nights.

"I can't deal with this shit right now." Bellamy laughs out miserably, rubbing at his temples as he sits at the post.

Murphy chuckles humorlessly, "I didn't realize I had such an affect on your life, Blake."

The older man gives him a sharp look, and Murphy swears he sees his finger twitch on the handle of his gun. Murphy himself wasn't allowed to have a gun yet, so he decided not to push his luck; promising himself to ignore Bellamy for the rest of their shift.

 

He almost does it too, until some snotty kid comes up to them looking for Clarke and Bellamy sends him away with a roll of his eyes and "How would I know?"

But that's okay. Murphy wasn't going to say anything. Bellamy wasn't worth it. Protecting Clarke wasn't his job-- "You don't have to be such an asshole."

The freckled man gives him a sideways glance, "Since when do you care about Clarke?"

Honestly Murphy'd like to know the answer to that himself. "I don't. I'm just saying, it's stupid. She left, so what. She doesn't owe any of you shit. She gave it her all at Mount Weather and it destroyed her. You two were close, I just figured you'd care about that."

"I do--did--care. I wanted to help her. I begged her to stay and she left anyway."

The younger boy nods with false empathy. "It's too bad people don't all heal the way you want them to, huh?"

"What would you know about healing, Murphy?" Their eyes meet for the first time in so long, and all the old butterflies swarm back to his stomach again. Bellamy looks so worn down, eyes tired and stubble visible. He wonders what if the other sees the same weariness in him.

This isn't okay. Bellamy's a jerk. Murphy doesn't even like him, he likes Clarke. And Clarke likes not being alone.

All of a sudden they're too close and Murphy jumps up. "Enough to know you haven't even started yet." He speaks, leaving even though their watch isn't up.

 

Clarke's in her tent, packing the bag she's going to bring to the alley. She's already gotten the food, but she had to stop to grab one of the books her mother had given her after she returned from her "vacation". Murphy had mentioned flunking school on the Ark to take care of his mom and it hadn't taken her long to realize he was dyslexic. She knows he'd never say so, but she thinks he might like to learn.

There were a lot of things he'd probably never say. And as much as that used to annoy her before, it was growing on her now. Probably because he didn't need to tell her things now. She already knows them; already knows him. Just as well as she knows herself. (Admittedly not as much as she'd like to.)

They hadn't been seeing each other for a huge amount of time, but the time they had spent together was packed with emotions and laughter and rude comments and friendship and...something more than that. It was the kind of time that never touched most people's clocks.

"Clarke?" 

The blonde startles, nearly dropping her novel. Her heart drops into her stomach at the sight of him standing at her tent flap. "Bellamy?" 

Neither knows what to do, both feeling like a stranger in the makeshift room. She doesn't ask him why he's here; fears the answer too much.

She doesn't have to, because he speaks anyway. "It was hard. It was hard, Clarke. Leading all of them without you." He won't look at her, eyes glued to the dirt.

"I couldn't--" She starts, knowing well that it didn't matter what she said. He wouldn't forgive her until he was ready. At least, the old Bellamy wouldn't. 

She had no idea who this man was; had no idea if he still liked Mythology, or pulled at his hair when he got stressed or if he still liked shooting his gun.

His gaze doesn't meet hers, but he cuts her off anyway. "I know you couldn't. I don't blame you. I never did."

As soon as the words reach her ears, her blood starts to boil. He wasn't angry at her but he'd let everyone hate her anyway? Who did that?

Maybe she didn't know this new Bellamy, but she was already starting to hate him.

Her body surges forward until they're chest to chest. Her neck tilts up awkwardly to look at him. She was intent on hitting him but her arms are so heavy, caskets filled to the brim with grief. She doesn't think she could fit much more.

"I've never blamed you. I've always known it wasn't fair to blame you just because..." Bellamy's face scrunched tightly. He's searching for something, she doesn't know what, but he apparently finds it anyway.

He's pulling her closer, closer, closer until their lips crash together. They battle as much with their tongues as they always have with their words, his hands gripping her hips. It's everything she thought it'd be; gentle and harsh, familiar and new. The exact opposite of her and Murphy--

Murphy.

The blonde gasps into Bellamy's mouth, pushing him away.

"What's wrong?" He asks, looking fractionally better than he had before.

"We can't do this." She whispers, reaching frantically for her bag.

He reaches gently for her arm, "Why not?"

"I'm seeing someone." She says before she even realizes she opened her mouth. That shouldn't have come out. Her and Murphy... aren't together. Not really anyway.

Bellamy visibly recoils, letting his arm drop from hers. "Who?"

She hesitates, sure that Murphy wouldn't want people to know about them. "It doesn't matter."

His face hardens, "Actually, it does."

It takes a second for her to realize that he doesn't believe her. Once it sinks in she rolls her eyes, grabbing her things. "Look, I don't-- I'm late enough. I have to go, Bellamy." She hugs him quickly, rushing out and leaving him alone in the tent.

She's alone on the path, everyone already inside their tents. For the first time since she got back, she doesn't stop by Monty's for moonshine. Telling Murphy she maybe-cheated on him was something she desperately wanted to be drunk for, but needed to not be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's kind of short, schools been keeping me busy. Hope you guys enjoyed it anyway :)
> 
> *Unedited*


	4. Three is a Crowd (...Right?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're all finally in the same scene! And the story's about to take off, so I'm super excited.

Clarke finishes recounting the events of the last hour, still slightly winded. Murphy's not sure if it's from the run or not.

"Okay." He says, looking up at her from his place in the dirt.

"Okay?"

He swallows the lump in his throat and replaces it with fake nonchalance. "I told you things would get better."

"What?" She asks, face still twisted with confusion.

"Come on, we all new he was into you." He lifts his hand as if he's going to touch her shoulder, but he decides against it, letting it rub at his nose before returning to its place in his lap. "I'm happy for you; I'm sure you guys will be disgustingly cute."

The light bulb goes off and suddenly she understands what she means. "I'm not leaving you." The words come out harsh and angry. How could he think that?

"Whatever you say." He smirks toward the sky like he can see the future or some shit.

Or maybe--it hits her suddenly--maybe he was seeing the past. All the times when she _had_ left him; alone and in the dirt.

"I'm not." She insists again, situating herself so she can lean her head down on his shoulder. His mouth opens to say more, go into detail about why she's better off with Bellamy. He wants to remind her all he can offer that Murphy can't, how much better he probably be able to treat her. But he knows Clarke's smart, and if she remembers all that and then she'll really leave him. He isn't sure he wants that.

 

Murphy picks up his tray of gruel, staring distastefully at the questionable food. He spots a familiar head of blonde hair, sitting alone under the shade of the tree. He saunters his way over, reminding himself that he doesn't give a shit about the whispers surrounding him. "I swear to God, the worst thing Kane has ever done would be putting me in Bellamy on watch together." He huffed, throwing his stuff down.

She smirks up from her plate, moving slightly to make room for his lanky body. "That bad, huh?"

"It's actually awful. He's so brooding and annoying. Is he always like that?"

"Most of the time, yeah." She smiles, passing him some of her meet. He takes it, lifting his own container of soup onto her tray. 

Her eyes flutter over to the right, almost involuntarily, and his gaze follows her's to find Bellamy sitting on a log, along with his gun. Murphy wonders briefly if he sleeps with that stupid thing.

When he looks back Clarke is still staring at him and he sighs inwardly before saying, "Go. You wanted to be friends with him, right? Got to start somewhere."

She doesn't argue but still says "Come with me." He gives her a flat look and she continues, "Seriously. You need friends too."

"Did you not hear our entire last conversation?"

"Bellamy's not really that bad, I swear"

"He was an asshole to you for months."

"He's been having a hard time." Murphy gives her another are-you-stupid and she sighed, trying again. "You tried to slit my throat, remember? Second chances."

"That was because..." He stops himself before he finishes, looking out at the rest of Arkadia.

"Because I let them hang you. I know." She says, barely above a whisper. She tries to seem apathetic, but she doesn't quite pull it off. Or maybe he just knows her too well.

"Second chances." He repeated, nodding as he lets himself be pulled onto his feet.

 

"I'm telling you, I could totally drink you under the table." Clark exclaims, hands flailing. Bellamy throws his head back, laughter shaking his body. It seems pent up, like she's broken some sort of dam. 

He's grinning at her and she smiles back, shy and sweet and the way she usually isn't. Murphy feels a twinge of something like jealousy, which is awful. He wasn't the jealous type.

They have a moment, and Murphy thinks that _this_ might be the most awkward he's ever felt. He's just about to call it quits and excuse himself, when Clark turns to him. "I could! Just ask Murph, we have competitions all the time."

Bellamy turns his own gaze to the younger boy, eyes still twinkling, and suddenly Murph can't breathe. God, he was so stupid. "Is that so?" The leader asks, mouth carving into a cocky smirk, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to Murphy.

"It is," Murphy starts, sounding equally as cocky. "Maybe you'll join us sometime." From the corner of his eye he can see Clarke glance at him with a smirk of her own, but she quickly drowns it in a swig of her drink. 

Bellamy's eyebrow shoots up, grin widening. "Maybe I will."

 

"He must really like you." He laughs out, entering their tiny space.

"What do you mean?"

"He put up with me for an hour," She snorts in a somehow attractive way. "Seriously. He didn't even say 'shut up Murphy' once."

Her eyes light up as she laughs, lifting his arm so she can twirl underneath it. He doesn't put up a fight anymore, knowing that this is one of the only times she lets the tough case she's always forced to wear break. 

So he let her spin until she gets bored, and then he disentangles their hands, reaching into his bag to produce their food.

"Shut up, Murphy." She jokes, which is rude. He's about to tell her as much, but he looks up and there she is: eyes cast down, her shirt already off, fingers fighting with the buttons on her pants. 

Okay, he thinks he can forgive her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, let me know what you think down below :)
> 
> *Unedited*

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, hope you enjoyed this :)
> 
> Leaving kudos and/or comments is always appreciated (HONESTLY THEY'RE MY FAVORITE THING.)
> 
> If you have any questions or prompts, always feel free to reach me at my tumblr: devotedlydecaffeinatedtyrant


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